A Taste
by Lady Chekov
Summary: Takes place after the events of 3x09 spoilers . Much is picking strawberries when Isabella stumbles upon him. Will our unpredictable sheriff kill him or, worse, change his mind? Slightly Much/Isabella with mentions of R/K. Toying with a pairing idea.


Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from these characters.

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He sat on his haunches, quietly staring ahead, his face a mask of dismay. He lost track of time as the sun rose and cast bright light through the canopy. The others would be awake now, most certainly, and he hadn't finished gathering the morning meal.

Much reached for the plumpest, ripest strawberry, numbly watching his fingers close around the fruit. He raised it to his lips, pausing when he found that he didn't feel hungry. He didn't feel much of anything. Not since he'd woken up this morning and seen them.

_They were sleeping in the same bunk. Her blond hair laying soft and shining against Robin's bare chest. _

Much closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, trying to will the image out of his mind. Emotion ached at the back of his throat, but he swallowed hard against it. He would not give into the bitter thoughts that threatened. He loved them, after-all. Yes, he did. He loved them _both_.

He carefully placed the strawberry in his pouch, and then slowly sat back amongst the white flowers and red fruit.

_Robin's fingers twined in the golden strands. A contented smile on Kate's sleeping face. Had they made love while the others slept?_

Much bit his lower lip. Tears, hot with hurt, split from his eyes and, angry, he swiped at them.

"Breakfast," he said, shakily. And he wildly grabbed at the nearest berries, ripping stems and leaves and flowers as he crammed the fistfuls into his pouch. "Breakfast, breakfast, break-"

The edge of a dagger was suddenly at his throat and he choked on the word, going still.

"A little far from home," a softly accented voice purred, and the knife blade pressed closer to the fluttering pulse beneath Much's ear, "Are we, _out-law?"_

"Isabella," Much gulped. He wished immediately that had told Allan, John, anyone where he was going, instead of just stalking off into the dawn.

"My Lady Sheriff, I think you meant to say," she hissed. Nudging him with her blade, she forced him to stumble to his feet. His hands were still uselessly clutching the sack of uprooted plants.

"Imagine my good fortune," she said, "To be visiting Locksley and to hear from a small peasant girl that she'd seen a stranger picking strawberries near the edge of the forest."

She twirled the point of the dagger, a plainly Gisbourne smirk playing on her lips.

"Don't bother trying to run. There are guards waiting by the tree line. All I have to do is call."

So Isabella hadn't simply charged into the woods with her hired men in tow. That was odd, Much thought, why would she venture into Sherwood alone?

"Robin," he said, suddenly, and she jerked around, looking over her shoulder. Although she scowled, her eyes were expectant. Much had seen the same look in Kate's eyes when she heard Robin's name.

"You thought it would be Robin, not me. And that's why you came here alone."

She spun back around, flickering her cold blue eyes up and down her captive. He saw real hurt there, and immediately felt preposterous for feeling anything even slightly resembling compassion for this woman. She was their enemy, after all.

"Is he here?" She asked, quietly, and tossed another glance over her shoulder.

Much could not stop a token half-laugh, although it sounded harsh even to his own ears. "No," he said, "Robin is no where near_ here_."

The blade was suddenly pressing against his artery again, urging him to explain and he sputtered.

"He's..he's with Kate!"

Isabella gave a scornful growl, "Her? His little ill-bred peasant?"

"You'll not say anything against her!" Much protested, his voice high-pitched and raw.

Isabella blinked twice at him. She noticed for the first time his red-rimmed eyes and the nearly dried trails of tears on his face.

"And tell me," she whispered, and Much was surprised when she moved the dagger away from his neck. She tapped the sharp edges with delicate fingertips and looked up at him under a forest of dark lashes.

"Before he decided to take her as his own..did Robin take _your_ feelings for her into account?"

Much swallowed, unable to speak. He looked away from her, desperation in his eyes and she smirked in response. Of course, he hadn't. Not Robin Hood. Robin only cared for one person and that was himself. Much shifted from foot to foot in front of her, still not meeting her gaze. She felt something lurch in her heart and quelled it. She would not have sympathy for this man. He was an out-law, after all. But, she thought, perhaps she could use his damaged heart to her advantage...

"You," she said, "his most loyal friend. And yet, he only thought of what he wanted. What about what..._you_....wanted?"

She raised one bejeweled hand to Much's stubbled cheek. Leaning in closer, she stared into his light blue eyes and when she exhaled, he could feel the soft breath on his lips.

"What are you--" he managed before she kissed him.

He had often imagined how Kate's mouth would feel against his. Sometimes, late at night, when he couldn't find sleep under the sound of crickets, he pretended. He had envisioned her pink lips to be gentle and soft, pliant and giving beneath his own.

Isabella's kiss was fierce and nearly violent and Much staggered beneath it. He sensed the rage, the darkness, the strength of this woman as she pressed her mouth to his. For a moment, he fought her, trying to push her away but soon he found his hands sliding down her pale shoulders and encircling her waist. He felt his own dark rage bubble up inside him and answer her. He returned it, equal in passion and pain. Yes. She was a Gisbourne, she had to be a monster, but she was... wonderful.

Perhaps she might even love him as he'd never been loved by Robin, or Kate.

_Robin and Kate. _

_He loved them. He loved them _both.

He broke the kiss and stumbled out of her embrace, lips bruised and apart as his breath panted through them, his cheeks flushed with lust he had not known he'd felt.

"Never..." He gasped, " I could...never...betray him."

Isabella sighed, ran her fingertips over his vest until he stepped away from her touch. Still pink and breathing hard.

I suppose that makes you are a better man," she said with a soft laugh of disbelief. "He may have betrayed you. You don't have _her. _But you are the better man. You at least have that thought to keep you warm."

She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder as she turned away. Velvet followed her with a quiet _swish_.

"The question is...," she said, with a final backwards glance, "is it enough?"

Much watched her vanish through the trees. As he stood there with a bag of berries for the cache of hungry out-laws waiting for him at the camp, he told himself that he did not wonder.


End file.
